Beautiful
by CarpeDiemForLife
Summary: Jesus isn't quite what David was expecting his God to be, and David loves him all the more for it. But sometimes love and hate go hand in hand. A character study of David throughout the story of "Godspell," with an alternate ending. Fix-it fic.


_A/N: Started writing this as a character study of David (John/Judas). Wound up writing a fix-it fic for a character death that has been in canon for literally thousands of years, haha! Don't know if anyone out there reads Godspell fanfic, but if you do, I hope you enjoy this story._

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Beautiful was not what David had expected the Lord to be.

Virtuous, yes. Strong. Wise. Inhuman, even—more angel than man in his perfection. He'd pictured his God as an immovable mountain, impenetrable and pure. He'd pictured him as, well… godly.

Not as beautiful, youthful, and achingly human.

Jesus's beauty captivated and appalled David all at once. His skin smoother than a baby's bottom. His slender, almost underfed figure. His brown eyes full of light and joy and uncertainty and strength and fear and love.

Knowing that his God loved him was one thing. But seeing the truth of that love from the eyes of… not an angel… too imperfect to be an angel…

And wasn't that blasphemy? To think his God was not perfect?

To think that David would die if he were?

David cherished every flaw, every blemish. The fits of rage, the spells of sadness that no one else seemed to notice. The careful way he sometimes smiled, as though unsure whether his love would be wanted, accepted. As though David could deny him. As though _any_ of them could deny him.

And indeed, no one could. As the day went on—the strange, magical, out-of-all-time-and-place day—David saw it again and again. Every awestruck look and worshipful smile given to Jesus from each one of his apostles. None of them could deny him anything. They all loved him, and he loved all of them in turn.

What Jesus didn't know, what _none_ of them knew, was that David's love was different. Only he was wretched enough to place such base, human desires on the Lord and Savior of humankind, the Son of God himself.

David was vile. And wrong.

And he loathed that Jesus looked at him no differently from anyone else. The sweetness and tenderness that set David on fire, his heart pounding hard enough to burst, his palms sweating, his skin itching with need, were given to all the others in equal measure. Why? Couldn't Jesus see that David was different? That he saw Jesus in a way the others simply would not? _C__ould _not?

When sometime later in the day—was it day at all or merely a land of dreams where time meant nothing?—a Pharisee crossed their path, the other apostles were all startled by Jesus's anger, worried at his violent outburst. David alone was not surprised. David alone did not judge but instead loved Jesus all the more for it, because Jesus was brilliant and righteous and lonely and broken and so very, very human. He wanted to tell Jesus that he understood. To tell him not to feel bad—he'd reacted to those hypocritical snakes as any decent man would. That was no reason for shame.

But before he could find the words, Jesus was gone. Leaving David behind just the same as he left all the others behind, choosing to isolate himself in his guilt rather than reach out a hand to those who loved him.

To the one who loved him the most.

Jesus wasn't the perfect God that David had planned for—he was undeniably, heartachingly human. He was lovely and imperfect and David loved him so much he hated him.

Not until night fell—the same day, a week later, an age later, maybe never—did David come to see the truth.

By then it was too late. The wheels were already in motion, the betrayal done. When David reentered the junkyard and saw Jesus sitting near the car, alone, while the others slept by the table, he felt an irrational fury. That they should abandon him this way, leaving him alone in his very hour of need.

His own hypocrisy made him ill. He moved to leave, unable to complete the task ahead.

A force kept him rooted in place. Something more than himself, some sense, some knowing that what had been done could not be undone. That he had acted the part in some play that had always been his destiny.

Is that why, even now, Jesus was able to lift a hand and wave to him, smiling? As though David were a friend and not… Was it because Jesus knew that David never truly had a choice?

Yes, if his minute, compassionate nod was anything to go by.

If anything, David had thought Jesus would be indifferent to him now. He couldn't imagine Jesus hating, not even the worst of sinners like himself. But indifference he'd prepared for, a kind of coldness that would cut out David's heart with a knife.

Except, Jesus wasn't looking at him with indifference or hate. Only warmth, and love. The same love he had always offered David, that David wasn't pure enough to return.

Grief splintered him. Pain, so much pain.

He stumbled towards Jesus, collapsing on his knees at his side. David threw himself on the younger man, his Lord, his God, his friend, clutching his arm, burying his face in Jesus's chest where he might hide his shame. A hand caressed his hair, giving relief—relief that was swiftly taken away as, with his other hand, Jesus pried away David's touch from his body. In that moment David knew. Jesus had smiled because he was a loving and compassionate God, but the truth was that, for himself, Jesus felt nothing but revulsion for David. As well he deserved. David braced himself for the disgust he knew he would find in Jesus's eyes.

Their eyes met, and his heart stopped.

"Friend," Jesus called him, smiling, shaking, almost crying. Stunned, David couldn't breathe. What—? "Do quickly what you have to do."

One tender hand on David's face, the other cradling the back of his head, Jesus planted a kiss on David's right cheek. He drew back, and the second of pause was not enough for David to remember how to breathe, how to think, before Jesus leaned forward and kissed his left cheek. His lips lingered a moment longer this time and David felt them tremble against his skin.

It was then, as Jesus pulled back and looked directly at him, braving his best imitation of a smile, that David realized Jesus's eyes were shining—not only with tears, but with love. A soul-deep, unbridled love that David recognized only too well.

And so David finally learned the terrible truth.

He had been wrong. Jesus _did_ love him. In a way he did not love the other apostles.

A thousand glances and touches came back to David then. A thousand moments that he and Jesus had shared that he'd thought weren't special—not to Jesus, at least. But now he understood and he could see. He could see the way Jesus looked to him for approval in a way he looked to no other. The way Jesus sought him out and walked by the cart with him whenever David kept away for too long, in an effort to hide his own need and devotion. The way that, even now, with the heartbreak clear on his young, beautiful face, the pain of David's betrayal cutting deep… even now he could not but look at David with love.

How had he not seen it before?

Because Jesus hadn't wanted him to. Or perhaps hadn't known how to show it. This love, after all, wasn't part of the script. It didn't fit with the roles they were destined to play. A role that Jesus was willing to fulfill in order to please his Father, even when doing so would cost him his life and more.

The shock of all he had come to understand was like a thousand-ton boulder pushing David back, away from Jesus. Towards the culmination of their destiny.

Blowing his police whistle—not nearly so majestic as his horn—David threw up his hands and spun about. Heart pounding again in his chest, growing louder and louder by the second, he began to sing. Even without looking, he sensed Jesus raise up his head and smile; he felt their shared joy in the memory.

And when he turned around and saw light shining down on Jesus, and Jesus smiling his brightest, truest smile, David felt a rush of love so powerful it blazed through him, scouring his body of all its sin, all the jealousy and shame and anger, until all that was left was love. His love for this beautiful, beautiful boy.

_No._

Jesus's head snapped round to look at him. His smile was gone, replaced by a confused crease on his brow.

"What?"

David realized he'd said the 'no' out loud. _Good_, he thought. With each moment that passed, he felt calmer, more sure.

"No," he repeated. He walked over to Jesus and grabbed him by the arms, hoisting him to his feet so they stood practically nose to nose. Jesus stared at him, and the completely bewildered look on the younger man's face made David want nothing more than to kiss him. Never before had he looked so nakedly vulnerable. "I won't do it."

Jesus understood at once what he meant. A sad smile graced his lips, one tear tumbling down his cheek.

It was the first time David had seen him cry.

"It's too late," he said. He glanced down at the whistle around David's neck. "It is done."

David shook his head. "Screw them," he said. Jesus blinked in surprise. Possibly at the language, possibly the sentiment behind it; David didn't care. He pushed on. "Screw all of them. None of this is really real. Can't you feel it? This isn't… happening, not really. We made this place, you and I. They can't stop us."

Mouth fallen open, Jesus seemed able only to stare at him. He took Jesus's face in his hands.

"They can't do a damn thing if I take your hand and walk out of this junkyard right now, out of the dream, into the world. None of them can stop us."

"...Out?" Jesus repeated in a whisper, seeming struck by the idea.

David nodded. "Come with me."

Their eyes held fast for a breathless moment. Then Jesus inhaled, turning to look at his apostles. David didn't need to follow his gaze to know the others were all watching them with interest, some with surprise, others not.

"But I..." He turned back to David helplessly, only to be met with a kiss. He froze. David held steady, neither pushing nor retreating. He could feel the rise and fall of Jesus's chest.

After a moment, Jesus let his eyes fall closed. He met David's lips with the slightest pressure from his own.

Smiling, David drew back and brushed his fingertips over the smooth skin of his beloved's face.

"Will they…?" Jesus asked.

David traced a comforting line from Jesus's brow to his chin. "They will," he promised. "We'll find them."

Now, finally, Jesus's face lit up with the unhindered, childlike joy that David had first fallen in love with. He leaned forward and smashed his lips against David's, looping his long arms around David's neck. Almost laughing, David smiled into the kiss, tempering Jesus's passion with tenderness, and loving him even more for his sincere, unskilled manner.

Jesus pulled back, beaming, his arms still around David's neck. With a movement almost imperceptible to the human eye, he nodded.

That was all the answer David needed. Reaching down, he took Jesus by the hand. They gripped each other tightly. Feeling almost like a child, David turned and began to run, pulling Jesus behind him. Soon Jesus's long legs matched his pace and they ran to the chainlink fence together. The world slowed around them and David felt they were almost flying through the air, one step, then another, then another, barely touching down. Then he was throwing open the gate and they were through.

The world returned to speed. They stopped. The night was quiet and dark, no motors rumbling or blue and red lights blazing. With a gasp, Jesus looked down and put his hands to his chest, running them down the plain white v-neck shirt and bellbottom jeans he now wore. He whirled around, staring into the empty junkyard.

Before sadness had a chance to enter his lover's eyes, David tugged on their joined hands. When Jesus met him with a questioning glance, he merely smiled and said, "Let's go home. We'll find our friends tomorrow, I promise. I know where they'll be."

The love that shone at him from those dark brown eyes could have kept David warm for a thousand years.

"I _am_ home," said Jesus. "For the first time… I am home."


End file.
